Supernatural: Dog Edition
by Shmacky
Summary: AU. A retelling of Supernatural with Sam and Dean as dogs.


**A/N ~ Okay, so the other day I was thinking about Supernatural and dogs and thought..._Wait, what if Sam and Dean WERE DOGS?_ And thus, I am retelling the entire Supernatural mythos, with this only difference being that Sam is an Old English Sheepdog and Dean is a corgi. Will these small differences change other things in their story? _Who can be sure?_ READ AND FIND OUT!**

**Also, I drew some art to accompany this story. I've linked it in my profile, you can see it there.**

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><p>Milk-Bones.<p>

Milk-Bones.

_Milk-Bones!_

_Oh_, Sam the sheepdog thought, as he sat on the kitchen floor, wagging his tail hopefully, _was there anything better than a Milk bone?_ Well, in actuality, there were probably a great many other things, but for a dog to think in this manner would be blasphemy. Blasphemy! Truly, Milk-Bones were the center of the canine universe. And if it wasn't Milk-Bones, it was sure to be something else of that ilk, all of the genus _dogus treatus_. Any self-respecting canine would want nothing more from life than a simple, humble Milk Bone, a pat on the head, and a kind word of praise from its master.

Or, at least, that's how Sam was trying to think. You see, Sam was a very special dog, not a dog who would usually spend his time thinking about dog treats. He was a hunting dog, but not in the usual sense. He hunted _the supernatural_.

Sam had been bought as a puppy by his owner, John, and trained, along with his dog-brother, Dean, to hunt and kill all sorts of paranormal ghoulies. After all, it was the responsibility, nay,_ duty_, of a dog to keep dangerous things away from its master, so why not the whole of humanity?

But the lifestyle wore on Sam. He soon found himself yearning for a different life. A simple life. A _biscuit-and-walkies _kind of life.

So he ran away.

He lived on the streets for a few weeks, until a nice lady had taken him in to live with her and her Golden Retriever, Jess, on their farm. Sam had been with them for a few months. He was happy there. What dog wouldn't? He got lots of attention, walks, the coveted Milk Bones, and even a dog-girlfriend (of course, she was spayed, but he loved her enough to overlook this minor detail). He was _happy_.

Except, of course, he did have the brief flashes of despair, usually when he thought about Dean or John. Sam wondered what they were doing, and if they were okay. He guessed he'd never know.

Well, he did find out, one evening in October...

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><p>"Sam! Sam!" Jess' anxious barks roused him from his slumber.<p>

"Woof! What is it?" Sam said, groggily. Jess' teeth were rough and insistent as she tugged on his collar.

"Arf, arf, there's somebody downstairs!"

"What?" Sam shook his shaggy fur out of his eyes.

"I heard something. Go down and check. Woof." Sam was going to say he wasn't a watchdog, for God's sake, but with a sigh he guessed he better.

"Okay. Sit. Stay. Good girl." He left Jess sitting nervously on the plush dog bed as he went to go greet their intruder.

Sam approached the kitchen carefully. Quietly. Indeed, he could hear noises. And he could smell something rank. In fact...it smelled a lot like..._no_. Sam shook that thought from his head.

He peeked around the corner in a rather endearing way. Yes, there was someone there. And they were...they were..._eating his Milk Bones?_

"Alright, you son of a bitch! Stop that right now! Ruff, ruff!" Sam shouted, not realizing the, rather humorous, irony of his own words. He batted the thief aside with a large paw.

"Whoa, arf! Fuck, ow! It's me, you fuckhead!" The small yellow corgi barked, knocking his head on the floor.

"_Dean_?" Sam asked in disbelief. "Woof, what are you doing here? How did you find me? How'd you get in?"

"I followed your scent, dumbass. Bark. I also asked around. And your doggy door was locked. Arf arf, woof. Listen, I need your help," Dean said, running the sentence together. He seemed...scared, Sam noted.

"Why? What do you need? Does it have to do with Dad?" The endearment slipped out by accident. Sam was surprised at himself.

"Yes, Sammy! He's missing. You need to help me find him!" Dean lifted a stubby little leg to emphasize his point. "C'mon, let's go!"

Sam was stunned. "What? No! Dean, I can't do that! I have a life now! Here! _Woof!_"

"Oh for fuck's sake, just come and it make it easier on us all, bro." Dean snapped angrily.

"Oh...oh, alright." Sam answered, somewhat regretfully. "I should say goodbye to my dog-girlfriend, though. Arf."

"Oh fine. But do it quickly."

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><p>Several lies and one tearful farewell later, Sam and Dean slipped out of the doggy door.<p>

"So, where to?" Sam asked.

"Come with me. Woof. There's something I need, a little while's away. Fuck, I hate the countryside."

After about half an hour's walk, Dean went to a spot and started to dig. Soon, retrieved a book. He showed it to Sam.

"See, this is Dad's journal. I think there may be clues to where he is." He nosed it open. "What do you think?"

Sam looked at the pages. "I dunno, Dean. I can't read."

Dean was furious. "What? What do you mean you can't read? I was pinning all my hopes on you being able to read! Fuck!" Dean flung the diary a few feet away in rage. Then he sat down, sulking.

After a brief pause, Sam nervously inquired, "Can you read, Dean?"

"What? No, of course not. I'm a fucking _dog_, Sammy. Bark bark."

"Ah. Okay." Another pause. "So, I guess we're back at square one, yeah?"

"Yeah." Dean muttered sadly. But then he perked up. "But hey, we're dogs! Arf! We're good at smelling and all that shit. We could track him down that way!"

"True," Sam said thoughtfully, "so, where's the car?"

"Huh?"

"Dad's car." Sam said, somewhat wearily. "We'll need transportation."

"Oh, uh...back at the motel where he left it, a few towns away. Lucky we were so close to you, wasn't it? Ruff!"

"Dean! Why didn't you bring the car! How will we get anywhere? We can't walk the whole way! Hell, you look like you're ready to drop dead now, arf!"

"I can't fucking drive, Sammy! I'm a dog! And besides, I tried and my feet couldn't reach the gas pedals, or the steering wheel. I'm a corgi, for fuck's sake." He sounded on the verge of tears.

"Oh Dean, it's okay, we can walk, it'll be fine. Let's go."

"Are you sure, Sammy? Do you really think we can find him? Can we...do this? Bark?" Dean tentatively asked, sounding unsure and horribly nervous in general.

"Yes, Dean. Together, we can. We'll do it. We'll be okay. Arf." Sam suddenly felt an overwhelming rush of love for his dog-brother.

"Alright, Sammy! Let's get this show on the road!" Dean barked happily, and darted out across the road.

Sam glanced down the road, and felt a splash of icy panic. "No, Dean! Wait, look out-"

Sam howled along with the screeching tires.

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><p>Now, afterwards, if you had asked Dean if there was anything he could've changed about his departure from this world, aside from its thorough untimeliness, his resounding answer would've been <em>the goddamn car. <em>In Dean's mind, being converted into road pizza by a five ton semi would've been a far more dignified death, a _man's_ death. But, unfortunately, it wasn't an eighteen wheeler, the manliest of vehicles and bane of small critters everywhere, that cut his promising life short, but a Toyota Corolla, the humblest of vehicles, perhaps rivaled only by the Ford Fiesta.

Yes, a Toyota, driving by a young couple, early twenties, who were not only engaged in a marital way but also engaged in a conversation about the proper way to boil an egg. Incidentally, this very argument would be their undoing, as, morning after morning, the same fight over and over, for ten years until the man came home from work to find the house empty and the kids gone and a note from the missus on the dining table.

The couple were too engrossed in their discussion of shells and firm yolks that they never noticed the small corgi scuttle into the middle of the road. They did, however, notice the small bump and howl of disbelief from the side of the road.

The following half hour was a blur of obscenities, disbelief, and a call to Animal Control. Sam wondered what kind of freaks kept animal control in their cell phone contacts list. Next thing he knew, he was being tossed in the back of a truck. Sam vaguely remembered biting the guy, the taste of blood in his mouth.

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><p>The first thing Sam noticed after coming out of his haze was the fact he was in a cage. The second thing he noticed was that a part of his anatomy he was rather attached to was missing. He let out another yowl of despair.<p>

Unfortunately, the trauma of losing his brother, his father, his girlfriend and his junk led Sam to become a neurotic dog. He barked at all hours of the day, and pissed everywhere. The employees at the Humane Society soon grew tired of him, and as soon as people saw the "Special Needs" tag on his cage, they looked the other way, the idea of adopting him quelled before it was even considered.

Sadly, after three long months at the shelter, Sam was put to euthanized, or, in softer, more childish terms, "put to sleep."

Looks like dogs aren't cut out for the supernatural after all.

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><p><strong>AN ~ DID YOU LIKE IT? I think it's very realistic. Dogs can't be supernatural investigators :(  
><strong>


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